The Simple Life
by Doggiegal
Summary: Fear courses through me and I panic, fumbling with my keys to open the door. When there’s nobody running out to tackle me, I am certain that something is off. [oneshot] Happy belated birthday, Cloud.


_The Simple Life_

Written by Doggiegal

Whenever my work runs late, my kids worry. It's been a little over five years since Sephiroth was defeated for the second time, and a lot has happened since then. As previously mentioned, I am a father now, with a three-and-a-half-year-old daughter and two two-year-old sons. I still run the delivery service, as I don't want my wife pressured with the weight of supporting _our_ family on her own. She hasn't stopped working herself to death with Seventh Heaven, despite protests from me and our other friends. Of course, it wasn't as if I expected Teef to give up her pride and joy (the bar…duh) simply because we married. The kids enjoy helping out with the bar and spend plenty of time with her, so it's not like they're neglected or anything.

What are the children like, you ask? Well, they're each their own person. Obviously. I suppose I'll just go from oldest to youngest. Lisa Flora Strife, my lovely little girl, is the one who inherited her mother's ability to make herself sick with worry. In fact, her overactive imagination is the reason my offspring are always afraid that some monster has gotten a hold of me. Zachary Channing Strife is the elder of our two identical twins. He's a mischief-maker, almost always in some sort of trouble, but he stands up for his younger brother when needed. If someone has a problem with his twin, they have a problem with him as well. Patrick Nicholas Strife, the baby of the family, is the one who (unfortunately) wound up the most like me. He is quieter than his siblings are, but will open up to one person and one person only: his mommy. He simply adores Tifa, and helps her out around the house. She never needs to tell him to do something twice. I'll admit, I'm a little envious.

I worry about them, too. I worry that they'll be diagnosed with schizophrenia—my father committed suicide because he was schizophrenic, and I'm pretty certain that I either inherited it from him or became schizophrenic due to the abuse I suffered in Nibleheim. I worry that they'll have to live their lives in fear that some new evil will arise, much like we who made up AVALANCHE do.

Finally arriving at Seventh Heaven—_home_—, I kill Fenrir's engine and get off, removing my goggles and putting them away. I'm surprised to see that the bar is locked and the lights out; Tifa never mentioned anything about closing early. Fear courses through me—what if something kidnapped one or more of the kids, or even Teef?—and I panic, fumbling with my keys to open the door. When there's nobody running out to tackle me, I am certain that something is off. I reach for the light switch and flip it, planning to search for clues.

The next thing I know, the room is filled with all my friends and family. "Surprise! Happy birthday, Cloud!"

I blink. My _birthday_? I glance at the wall calendar and check the date. August nineteenth. I shake my head, chuckling slightly. They were right. Denzel is holding Zack, making sure he doesn't wreck anything, and Marlene is entertaining Lisa. I smile and walk over to my wife, who is holding Pat, and kiss her cheek. "Did you organize this whole thing?"

"I had some help." She motions to everyone else in the room—I'm actually surprised that Vincent showed up; he still spends a lot of his time in that damn coffin—as they smile at me. I give them a small, grateful smile back and relieve Marlene of Lisa. My daughter snuggles up to me and I hold her close. Five years ago, I took this all for granted. I drowned myself in guilt—I had let both Zack and Aeris down when they needed me most—and shut everyone out. I think it was the fact that they forgave me and gave me a second chance at life that opened my eyes to the beauty of the world. I don't ever want to push my friends and family away again; I damn near severed any ties I had with them the first time. I don't want my children to grow up without a father, as I did. I don't want Tifa to be left a widow and have to take care of the kids all on her own, like my mother was. I want the five of us—sorry, _six_ of us; Denzel's my son too, in all the ways that count—to weather through the good and bad times together, knowing that we'll always be here for each other (_family_…what a wonderful word) and love each other.

I blow out the candles on the beautiful cake my children helped their mother make (I later found out that they almost put salt in the mix instead of sugar, but Marlene had corrected them before any damage was done), and cut it up into multiple slices. My daughter, still resting on my hip, reaches for the cake and I pass her a slice. I know she's going to be messy with it, but I don't mind. Not today, surrounded by all the people who have stood by me for years now—people who have earned my trust and respect. I pass out cake to the large group of AVALANCHE members and their offspring. Cid and Shera brought their son, and he and Zack seemed to be getting along quite well. But then again, many kids like Zack. He is social and caring, reminding me of how his mother was like back in Nibleheim.

The party lasts for a while, everybody pitching in to make my twenty-eighth birthday something to remember. After everyone leaves, I help Tifa put the children to bed. Lisa is tired and Pat obeys his mother, so those two went to sleep without any major problems. Zack is a completely different story, and we wind up reading two bedtime stories to him in order to calm him down. Denzel, of course, does as he's told; a thirteen-year-old knows how to behave. Exhausted, I climb into bed beside my love. I wrap my arms around her, and she buries her head in my neck. "Happy birthday, Hun," she murmurs, half-asleep. I kiss her hair. Maybe life was more exciting when I was going on all those adventures, but I wouldn't trade what I have now for anything. The simple life suits me juts fine.

_-Fini-_

_**Author's Notes: Okay, so there wasn't much romance. I'm actually working on writing that kind of stuff. Cloti, because they were meant to be. The kids are for another story of mine, though they'll only make a brief appearance in the epilogue. The story is 1,085 words, probably some sort of record for me. It was supposed to be finished and released yesterday, but, well…that didn't happen. Anyways, happy belated birthday, Cloud Strife!**_

_**-Doggiegal**_


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